


The Care and Keeping of Flowers

by Goodluckdetective (scorpiontales)



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Getting Together, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 10:16:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4431401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpiontales/pseuds/Goodluckdetective
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Donut always loved gardening.</p><p>Doc had never had the opportunity, but for Donut, he'd give it a try.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Care and Keeping of Flowers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RenaRoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RenaRoo/gifts).



> For this prompt from Rena on "how Doc and Donut got together" this is the start of course, but maybe I'll write a proper get together after this if there's interest.

     Growing up in Iowa, Donut had always had a bit of a green thumb. Most of his classmates did, they were all farmer kids, but while they frolicked to corn and crops, Donut had always been more inclined to flowers. From a young age, he’d taken charge of his mother’s garden, planting steeds in the early spring to coax into flowers during the summer. Petunias, impatiens, lantanas; all could be found blooming in his backyard.

     It was a good hobby. Both of his Moms encouraged it. They thought it kept him busy, kept him distracted from the neighbors and classmates who whispered as they passed his house, the slurs that would float over their fence every week or so. And while it certainly made Donut an even larger target for bullying once he reached his teen years, the comfort of soft grass and green petals always helped put a smile on his face even after a harsh day at school.

     Being a gay kid in rural Iowa was tough. Being a gay kid with two Moms in rural Iowa was tougher. But keeping his garden going? That was easy.

     That had perhaps been the toughest part about joining the military; leaving his prize winning garden behind. He tried to set one up in Blood Gulch when he first arrived, but the soil had always been too dry to grow anything besides grass. He didn’t even have any seeds to work with. It was a particular disappointment, in those early days. To be separated the ground underneath his feet by a layer of armor plating.

     Eventually, the disappointment faded; it was hard to focus on gardening with all that was going on. But when times got quiet, or when he found himself secured to a cot after another painful injury, Donut sometimes longed for his flowers back home. His tomato plants. The stalks of corn he’d started growing in 8th grade to get people off his back about not being “a real farmer.”

     He didn’t remember telling Doc about it. His plants. In fact, he didn’t remember talking to the man about much at all. But after stumbling into the backyard of the cottage the doctor set up to be met with the start of cultivated soil, Donut started to figure that maybe he’d given more away than his memory was telling him.

     “Oh, Donut! How you feeling!” Doc was on the ground, a trowel in hand, a sunhat a size too large sitting on his brow. His dark skin was tanner than usual; he’d been spending a lot of time outside. The doctor had shed his armor entirely, wearing only a tank top and a pair of shorts. And he really did have nice arms-

     Donut shook his head. Now wasn’t the time to get distracted. He gripped the crutches he’d used to get outside, steadying himself on the brick patio. How Doc managed to make a patio in the weeks Donut was out was lost on the soldier. His side hurt a bit from moving around, his stitches pulling, but he ignored it.

     “Um, hey Doc,” he said, looking at the seeds Doc was planting. They were tomato seeds; Donut recognized the shape and color. “I’m feeling just great.” That was an exaggeration, Donut felt like shit, but given his Doctor’s smiling face, he felt like lying was the best course of action. Many things could be said about Franklin Donut, but a downer was not one of them. He looked to the side. “No sign of anyone yet?”

     “Nope.” Doc sounded perfectly content that Donut’s friends were entirely MIA.  Donut resisted the urge to sigh; it’d make his chest hurt. His team was out there somewhere and he was stuck here with a healing bullet wound and an aching chest. It was entirely unfair. How would they survive whatever trouble they’d gotten themselves into without his fantastic throwing arm? God knew Grif and Simmons couldn’t throw for shit. Donut pushed the thought out of his mind. No sad thoughts, no worrying. Focus on the here and now. It was what his Mothers always taught him. Don’t worry about the assholes who might try to kick them out of town, don’t worry about the bills they had to pay; focus on what was to be done in the present.

     In retrospect, his Moms might have preached that just to keep him from having a nervous break. But Donut wasn’t going to think about that. Questioning life philosophies could wait for later.

     “Alrighty then.” Donut made his way over to Doc, taking care to avoid planting his crutches in the newly tended to dirt. Doc got up to help him over, easing him in a chair he’d planted in the middle of the makeshift garden. It wasn’t a great chair, the way it reclined was killing Donut’s chest, but it was better than staying up. He looked down at the land in front of him. Doc had managed to label the plants using sticky notes and a few broken yardsticks. Donut could read the labels pretty well; they were mostly crops like corn and squash. There wasn’t any signs for flowers.

     “So you like gardening?” The cheerful tone in Donut’s voice was forced. Donut was worried he lost it the moment the bullet pierced his armor. Doc looked up at him and adjusted his glasses that were slipping down his nose. They were typical librarian glasses, square brown shades with thick lenses. Maybe, Donut thought with a hint of amusement, they could use them to set a fire in an emergency.

     “Yeah. Gardening is great for the health! Organic food and all.” He dropped another seed in the dirt and covered it up with another layer. “Plus, it’ll make good compost when we have leftover scraps.”

     Donut tried to hide his surprise. The Doctor was more familiar with gardening than Donut would have considered. Most people didn’t even take compost or fertilizer into account when trying to make a small garden by themselves. Most people didn’t even know they had to take it into account. “Did you have a garden before?”

     He didn’t have to specify what before was. In the military, they all had a before. Doc snorted.

      “Please. I grew up in New York. There wasn’t room for a cactus let alone a garden.” He shook his head, a wistful look looking on his face. “Ah Carl. You were a good cactus. Died too young.”

     Donut knew that feeling; he’d lost far too many plants to harsh summers. Them Doc’s words clicked in his brain. “Wait, you grew up in the city!? How do you know all of this!?”

     Doc looked at him, visible confusion on his face. After a second, his brown eyes lit up with understanding. He did really have nice eyes. “Oh right! You don’t remember!” Before Donut could ask, Doc began to explain. “When I was healing you up, you kept blabbering about this kind of stuff. How gardening worked. And since there wasn’t a lot to do, I decided to try my hand at it.” He gestured to the garden, then grinned back at Donut. “I thought it would be good patient therapy! Give you something to do while recovering!”

     Donut stared at him. Really stared at him. He wasn’t sure if he was gawking or not. To make a set up like this would take weeks. Long, hard, labor filled, weeks. No wonder Doc had such nice arms; he must have been busting his ass day in and day out for a while now.

     “You did all of this from my rambling?”

     Doc hadn’t noticed his expression yet. “Oh course! It wasn’t that hard; you were very detailed.” He reached down for some dirt, running his hand through it. Donut could see the callouses on his hands.

     “You…” Donut searched for the words. It was a sensation he wasn’t used to. Normally, every sentence came to him easily; he’d always had a terrible filter. But now? In front of this man who’d built him a garden just because? He was lost. “You did all of this for me?”

     That captured Doc’s attention. He looked towards Donut and upon taking in his expression, scooted a inch back away from the other man. There was a visible flush on his cheeks. He turned his gaze from Donut’s face to the ground, and played with the edge of his hat.

     “Well, I wouldn’t say that. It was just something to do.”

     Donut could spot when someone was lying to themselves. He’d done it for years himself. He looked at the medic, at his somewhat frightened face, and thought back to the time he’d been bloody and feverish. How there’d been a cool hand on his forehead and a soft chipper voice speaking in his ear. How he’d wanted so badly to speak back.

     He could do that now. Say something. But instead, Donut let a smile grace his face. Bent forward. Tugged Doc towards him by his shirt to press a kiss to his cheek.  It wasn’t a thank you, but it was a start.

     Meanwhile, the lantana seeds Doc had his in the corner began to sprout roots and grow.


End file.
